Part I It was here, among the looming bookcases and spiralling corridors my descent began. With so many collections of books, of tomes and other literary mediums, those both private and public gathered in such number the smell of parchment and of dust was laid thick, overpowering even - The scent seemingly seeping its way throughout the buildings interior, worming its way into its shadows, into its walls and even the gaps between them. The Grymcott libraries were extensive and ancient too, there was no doubt about that. Having been built ages since past the very history of this reservoir of knowledge is clouded and unspoken ... Ironic, one would suppose, to think a place of generation spanning records, accounts and books of all kind, be that truth, lore or myth all the same would have its history lost, hidden in a spiral of rumours - of which there are many: Some suppose that the library began its first days as one solely owned and private to meet the desires of a deranged man made half-mad in his pursuit of knowledge, others speak of.. More concerning origins... whispers of it having been claimed from the rasping hands of a Necromancer-Wizard, its very foundations constructed upon a series of long lost catacombs and tunnels, the interior of which was stuffed with great mounds of remains from some forgotten plague. Through all these rumours, they were dubious at best - each and every being as disregardable as the last… that was however up until that fateful night. My shift by now had dragged on for what appeared to be hours, and felt like them too. Night-shifts. They were unrivaled in their unpleasantness, and no, not because of the deep pitted silence that ruminated the libraries and its shadow ridden corridors or the darkness which crept froth from which, waxing and waning as the lantern light drove it back - For I had long since gotten used to all of that in my long years of service, the real trouble you see, it came in the form of a mind numbing boredom. One which lasted from sunset to sunrise, the hours between which I would spend stationed here, tasked with keeping the volumes safe from ‘intruders’ and to slowly worm my way around its bookshelves, dusting and caring for them. I had long since however forgotten the latter part of my duties. These papers, family records and private letters - They would never see the light of day, let alone feel the warmth of human hand. As for their safety, well, I was almost entirely ensured of that… In all my years here, none, none have ever tried to steal, let alone force entry into these libraries, besides, more than half the town was illiterate, stupid, if you wiill. Sure, I could read, but I was never the reading type. Perhaps thats why they chose me over the others for this job after all.. One thing was for sure, too many of my years had been spent wasting away within that acursed place. Had I not resigned to my fate so easily I could have been so much more. However, as I was saying, the night was long, perhaps even longer than normal, at least it seemed that way. A green, eerie glow had painted the buildings weathered exterior, illuminating it in a sickly light - one born from Morselb. The chaos moon was high this night. Though, it made no difference, Chaos and Magic were so sunken and weighed down with both oppression and religious dogma that they need not have existed, only rearing their long since disregarded heads to force my hand on extra shifts every so often. Having paced the halls not once, but twice, my entire frame was now wracked with exhaustion, my head throbbing with well warranted tiredness, each passing thought as fleeting as the next. Not to mention the fact that my remaining willpower had been exhausted through clutching the motivation of taking a nap. Which now, laying my head against the treated wood of a tucked away bench, had never felt like a better idea. Within but a handful of minutes my vision had begun to slowly fade as the kingdom of sleep welcomed me through its gates once more. My waking and departure from those dreaming worlds however, was not the easy or effortless task that my entry had once been... Suddenly I jolted upwards. My breaths heavy with suspense. My ears pricked with the sound of a loud bang, the echoes of which still reverberated throughout both my skull and the hall, each fraction of sound now lost in its reams of shelving. A chill tingling in my spine I quickly forced myself to silence, scrambling up to lean over the balcony of the second floor and peer down into the gloom, painstakingly watching the darkness. I was not alone. The gentle vibrations of what I could only describe as footsteps disturbed the air, their sound, uneven and undulating, perhaps twisted into whispers as they echoed. Even still, I watched with an intensity unequaled, my eyes slowly adjusting as the unrecognisable shadows and shapes formed themselves into imaginary faces, and figures - The buildings many shadows had now interlocked themselves into a dance with the pale lime light which leaked through the dust coated windows, moving, as if shadows not at all... Something was not right and both me and my body knew it. Adrenaline circulated my veins as I resisted the urge to call out or wail - my animalistic instincts instead manifesting in the form of an odd feeling of bravery. Cursing, I riffled through my pockets, scraping a match to light my lantern before pacing forward, scanning the hall for any signs of movement… There was however none. Still on edge, I gathered my senses, preparing to do a quick circuit around the building, having managed to convince myself that the building was in fact slowly collapsing, the occasional sound being entirely explainable by the work of time and long years of neglect - However, as it often does, suspicion had taken root, and was now slowly gnawing away at my sanity with each passing loop or turn, gorging itself upon my fear. It was here. Awaiting me in the half-light. Driven to the sound of my beating heart amongst the silence that I found it. My doom.. And my Salvation. A solitary book interrupted the corridor, Its blank, worn covered surface urging me to lean down and open it.... The air around me humming with whispers I swatted away the settling dust from where it had fallen and the dense darkness with my hand and lantern both. An unnatural coldness stung the tips of my fingers as I grasped the books tattered covers - The surface of which felt rough and wrinkled, yet subtly smooth and supple. It was a recognisable feeling, but one that felt almost entirely alien. To me it was equally reminiscent and sinister, inspiring a sensation of both admiration for the craft which had been poured into its production, but also a sense of unease, for in all my long years I had never felt a cover such as this one. If only I could see as I can now, If only I was as wise as I am now… I would have known this was no ordinary book just from its look alone. But alas, a burning curiosity, an ambition one which could be neither quenched nor sated now burrowed its way within me, spreading out from my fingertips like a tumour… from this point onwards, my will was no longer my own - to even call it 'Mine' would be to make a mockery of all that it would soon become, and with it, so too was my soul...
Part II As if possessed I watched as my knees bent down, lowering me towards the book which my hands now clawed at, clutching it close to my chest as its deep coldness began to seep its way through my clothing, stinging my skin. Desperately I shook my head in both fear and denial, attempting to regain control of my now pale white arms… it was then that I heard it. A voice. A murmur. A whisper. So quiet as to be unheard, Yet so loud to dominate all the senses at once. This was a voice no different from my own, yet so alien, twisted and harrowing without equivalent. To try and put it into words would be folly, for this was a voice you felt, one you knew. “Take it. It is mine.” It spoke. “Take it. It is yours.” It said. “Truth is at your fingertips.” “Eternity on your lips.” “Take it. It is ours” And take it I did… Behold In the walk between worlds it burns bright! Metal is water! Stone is Wax! Flesh is smoke! All is unmade only to be made anew. All must die as to be reborn once more! A sudden clarity washed over me as I looked out into the gloom, scrambling to my feet as I did so. My glances were however unyielding for there was nothing: No one - No one but me and the book which I now held so tightly within my hands. The time was now. Seizing it for my own I slipped through the libraries doorway and into the darkness of the streets. And as the two moons danced above, their lights bleeding into one another I took to the sidepath, embracing the early-morning rain as it hammered down, each drop a blessing unto the earth just as this knowledge had been to me. With my sound masked by the downpour and my form hidden in the reams of shadow I made haste toward my house. From here on forth I would need no lantern nor torch to mark my path, for yearning and curiosity would be my guiding light.... Besides, Dawn was nearing, the sun would soon rise. Taking no notice of my houses crumbling walls and splintered floorboards within which the damp which had plagued me ever since It had been inherited still lingered I entered, placing down the slab of a book onto the wood of my desk, the surface of which now hissed - Blackening. Freezing. Softening. Hardening before returning to its form once more. To which I watched with both wonder and suspicion, Sorcery before my very eyes! Taking heed of what had just unfolded I riffled through my crude drawers, retrieving a number of wax candles the lights of which now danced across the walls, twisting both mine and the book’s shadows into a thousand features of a thousand faces. And with a deep breath of my abode's sodden air I grasped at the books lock, shunting it open before splaying out the two covers flat, revealing to me the first page upon which was scrawled naught but a single symbol - and as I wiped away the film of dust from its surface my ears rang with the sound of church-bells. Nine times they rang, for dawn had come once again, and yet, there would be no sleep this night or the next, that much I was certain of.
Nice! Is this inspired by the trailer for Total War: Warhammer? The one where the wizard is looking through a book and then gets possessed at the end?
Part III It was from forth this point on my true work had begun. Under the light of day I would spend my days pacing throughout Grymcott’s libraries great halls - now, and only now, able to see it for what it truly was - a trove of knowledge. Knowledge, and thus, power. Arcane tomes stuffed behind reams of shelving, each depicting spells and places of magical importance within the city and its surroundings. Ancient histories squirreled away, each depicting extensive accounts of the towns earliest days. Intriguing letters between the families of now rumor shadowed nobles and politicians uncovered under dust, layers thick. - All of these items I would have once considered as naught but fire fuel, but now, now their usefulness was unparalleled. And as the light fades, under the cover of darkness I would commit myself to the study of all that is, all that was and all that will be - To study of he who weaves fate itself. Tchar. Tzeeneth, as he would be called in their twisted, yet oh so ancient and powerful tongue. There were others too. Three, Each an aspect of the chaos from which reality itself was formed - the foundation beneath our feat; awaiting us upon our deaths and for those who pledge themselves upon their rebirths. Raw emotion made manifest in a world beyond our own from forth which the light seeps - promising of a fiercer place, one I had witnessed first in my dreams, and then in my visions. It was not just this however that the book spoke of, for its very pages seemingly shifted, containing more words than reality should allow. Each time I shunted open the floorboards to retrieve the book to begin delivering into its lores its pages would be different from the last - whether that took the form of them shifting a hundred places forward or back, sometimes a new chapter having replaced that which came before it, or occasional corrections inked over previously untouched text. Having sunk days, if not weeks, into research and study I could finally begin to piece together the language the book spoke of, several paragraphs and sections of it being almost entirely composed of runic symbols which burned bright with a light of their own... Slowly, but surely, I could begin to understand, with each passing day unlocking more and more phrases and words, able to speak them in ushered tones - the whispers of which still echo around my darkened cellar, possessing the now flickering shadows within. However, the books volumes did not end there, for many a chapter was of the Rites and Rituals which could be used to invoke blessings far above mere mortal capability or to bring forth and bind entities from beyond the void. However, with each being as magnificent as the next, they were no less difficult. Each phrase must be painstakingly uttered as complex diagrams and wards are precisely inked across tiles and pages. A single slip in pronunciation or a grain of blooded salt misplaced leading to sudden doom. And hidden within the tomes writings was more yet: Esoteric lores, spells and enchantments, weaved between which diagrams were splayed out, depicting otherworldly designs - so infinitely complex in their design one could spend years deciphering their patterns and arrangements only to find their true meaning would take a hundred more. I too, suspected that I was not the only person.. Or perhaps.. Thing… studying the tome laid out before me given its ever changing nature and ability to make sudden corrections. Such suspicions were all but confirmed when one evening I witnessed a handful of notes being scrawled onto the page - At first one would suspect they were being written by the air itself, but I knew all too well this was not the case, and they were instead being scrawled from the abyss beyond - the ink sizzling with heat as it formed into characters of perfect shape and elegance. Seizing the opportunity I had managed to scrawl out some of said writings onto another page before that which they were written upon would once again be ripped from the books bounds, imprinted with the marks of several clawed hands before disintegrating into ash and smoke. For I had in fact seen such happenings occur time and time again, the book seemingly squabbling with itself, smudging its own writings or tearing out pages whenever someone or something attempted to write within. I had theorized it was the work of Tzeeneth’s tireless scribes, which had been endlessly described in detail and constantly mentioned without need throughout. And only after studying those runic patterns I had managed to copy onto the separate page for several days was I, much to my awe, able to confirm so. However, what I had managed to steal from the page before it was snatched away was far more valuable than I had first anticipated… Deciphering my scrawled and barely illegible handwriting of the copied notes I uncovered what I could only assume was the true name of one of the many demons working upon such a great ream of text. ‘Tsani’kchami’ilqxtzen’ It read - The spoken sound reverberating with a hum of potency in the air. In their squaables one of the scribes must have surely scrawled either the name of itself or another unaware.. or uncaring of any whom would read it. Burning upon my notebook was the name of what I worked out to be what was referred to within the book as a ‘Horror’, each being of the colours and ranking either blue or pink, the latter being the most powerful of the two. Spirits of change, manifestations of transformation given form and flesh… It would appear that my studies would soon yield wondrous.. Or terrible... Results